


Feels Like Home

by my_shoes_are_capable_of_that



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I APOLOGIZE, M/M, i don't even know what this fic is, they're kind of cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 12:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_shoes_are_capable_of_that/pseuds/my_shoes_are_capable_of_that
Summary: Feuilly is confused about his (possibly not-straight) feelings for his (also possibly not-straight) best friend.When Feuilly comes home one day extremely exhausted, he may accidentally let his (not-so-straight) feelings slip.This is terrible, I apologize.~Feuilly was adamant when asked about Bahorel, with as much certainty he could muster, that they were – and always only would be - best friends. The group had eventually learnt to stop questioning the matter. Feuilly was straight. Bahorel was straight. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to believe there was anything else to the friendship other than just that – friendship.Sometimes, the lines of friendship became blurred, and Feuilly himself became confused of the circumstances of their relationship.To cope, he had adapted a permanent mantra in his head; Bahorel is your best friend. Bahorel is your best friend.





	Feels Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> Who would of thought the first fic I'd ever post would be Bahorel/Feuilly.  
> And so terrible too, I'm sorry.

Feuilly was adamant when asked about Bahorel, with as much certainty he could muster, that they were – and always only would be - best friends. The group had eventually learnt to stop questioning the matter. Feuilly was straight. Bahorel was straight. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to believe there was anything else to the friendship other than just that – friendship.

 

Sometimes, the lines of friendship became blurred, and Feuilly himself became confused of the circumstances of their relationship.

 

To cope, he had adapted a permanent mantra in his head; _Bahorel is your best friend. Bahorel is your best friend._

 

 

As Feuilly stumbles up the staircase to his apartment, his thoughts are far away from Bahorel and his mantra, and more focused on getting up the steps and into his bed. He keys open the door to his apartment and slinks through the doorway, immediately planning on heading for his bed.

 

“I hope you plan on showering, cause you fucking stink.” Feuilly pauses when he hears Bahorel and he’s about to snap at Bahorel for breaking into his apartment, when he feels Bahorel’s large hands settle on his shoulders. “Jeez, you’re fucking tense.”

 

“Go take a bath, Feuilly. Then, if you’re lucky, I might give you a massage.” Bahorel winks and Feuilly is shoved roughly in the direction of his bathroom. He nearly falls on the bathroom floor but manages to catch himself on the toilet bowl. He sighs, and rests his face of the cool porcelain, his eyes instantly closing.

 

He wakes when he feels Bahorel’s strong arms wrap around him and lift him from the floor, settling his ass on the sink. Bahorel’s hands easily go to Feuilly’s shirt, and he hears the buttons being undone, and he feels the shirt being pulled over his arms. He lifts his hips as Bahorel pulls his pants and underwear off. His mind isn’t functioning properly, so he doesn’t properly register that he is completely naked in Bahorel’s arms.

 

Bahorel drops him in the tub gently, propping him into a sitting position. He vaguely remembers promising to stay awake before Bahorel turns and walks swiftly out of the bathroom. Feuilly’s eyes instantly fall shut.

 

 

“Feu…” The words don’t register in Feuilly’s brain, all he can hear is Bahorel’s deep voice wakening him from his sleep. “Feuilly, you cannot go to sleep in the bath. You’ll drown.”

 

“Let me sleep here, until I die here,” Feuilly mumbles, opening his eyes to see an amused Bahorel staring down at him. He smiles sleepily, and blinks slowly. “Hello.”

 

“Hello there,” Bahorel smirks and somewhere in the back of his mind, his mantra is screaming to be heard, but Feuilly is too tired to think of anything.

 

Bahorel doesn’t look so amused anymore as he scans Feuilly’s face. “What on earth have you been doing to get yourself looking so beat-down?”

  
“Graveyard shift, then a double shift at the café. Haven’t been in bed since ten last night.”

 

“Please tell me that you haven’t actually been up for twenty-four hours. Christ, Feuilly.” Bahorel rises from his crouched position, frowning dismayingly. “Stay here, do not go back to sleep! I’m going to find food for you.” Bahorel is gone before Feuilly can warn him about the empty cupboards.

 

Bahorel comes back, looking even more concerned than before. “You have no food, Feuilly. If you don’t call in sick for the next week, I swear to god I’ll bring this to Enjolras. He may be just as bad, but he won’t let you get away with it. I ordered Chinese.”

 

He stares up at his best friend with wide eyes and he finds himself reaching for the large man. When his hand is secured in Bahorel’s curls at the back of his neck, he fits their mouths gently together.

 

It was the drowsiness, he would later tell himself, the drowsiness, the warmth, the water, and Bahorel. It was entirely Bahorel’s bloody fault.

 

Kissing Bahorel felt like being home. He’d always imagined it would be fierce and angry, the way Bahorel did everything else, but he found that Bahorel’s kisses were passionate and warm and gentle and **_good_**.

 

They are forced to separate when the doorbell rings and Bahorel goes to fetch the food. Feuilly lifts himself out of the bath, shaking, and manages to pull clothes onto his still-dripping body.

 

He gets dressed as quickly as his weak limbs will allow him to, and joins Bahorel and the Chinese food on the couch. They don’t exchange any words as they eat, but once the food is finished and the rubbish cleared, Bahorel wraps Feuilly in his arms and promises to never let go.

 

 


End file.
